


Welcome Back From the Dead

by RyanTheTwit



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: GTA AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3367244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyanTheTwit/pseuds/RyanTheTwit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fake AH Crew, the most dangerous, most well-known, the most invincible crew in all of Los Santos has met it’s end in a series of raging fire and blazing guns. Well, at least everyone thinks they have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jack Pattillo

At first, it was Jack Pattillo. The pilot. The intel. Co-founder of the infamous Fake AH Crew. Practically the mother in this fucked up, ragtag gang. A woman with ginger hair, tacky tourist t-shirts, and a motherly complex louder than her button-downs that would make half the LSPD put down their guns just so she could give them a kiss on both cheeks. She was someone you would expect to volunteer at soup kitchens and go to PTA meeting with three trays of home-made brownies and coffee for the hell of it. No, instead, she robbed gas stations and stole aircrafts on a weekly basis. All for fun. Jack was the first to go in what would be the crash and burn of the entire Fake AH Crew.

 

It was during one of their infamous heists.

It was an ammunition store, where the crew would get ammo, guns, and money all at once. A relatively easy job. It was no bank, but banks didn’t have guns to loan out like candy. The store was one of the more wealthier and secure stores in Los Santos, located closer to Vinewood as well as the LSPD. They had to prepare more than the run-of-the-mill robbery where the poor cashier had no shotgun hiding under the table, and more distance between the police station. They knew by experience.

The plan was that Geoff and Michael would go in and grab the money, guns, and ammo, kill the cashier, and then make like a tree and leave. Ryan had a car ready and running with Lester on speed dial for when they leave the store with the police already halfway there. The police arriving before the getaway car, well, got away was inevitable. That’s why Ray was on the rooftop. He was there to snipe the oncoming police force and keep them at bay. Obviously Ray couldn’t hold back every policeman and woman with only a sniper rifle, so Jack and Gavin was there with a truckload of grenades and sticky bombs. A car was hidden in the alley all gassed up for Ray, Michael, and Jack to get in. As soon as the main crew got away with the cash, they would would hightail it out of there with nothing but a few scrapes and bruises at best.

At least, that was what the plan was supposed to be. The crew had a habit of improvising half, if the not the entire, plan.

While Jack and Gavin distracted the police force and the main crew got away with the cash, Ray called Lester when he saw the chance to look away, and soon, more than half of the force left in their police cars to attend to god knows what Lester did.

“C’mon guys,” Ray said into the comm. “We gotta get going. Finish up and get in the car.” Gavin and Jack did as they were told and finished off with a last explosion which sent a policeman flying. Ray got up from his position on the roof and climbed down the ladder. He shot a few stragglers with his handgun as he made his way over.

A couple miles away, Lindsay sat in a helicopter ready to leave in a moment’s notice. The crew had splurged and bought a helicopter that could seat four people, and they were putting it to the test. The plan would have been fine without the helicopter, but Gavin insisted that they use it. Lindsay was there to make sure they could escape the police and make to Mt. Chiliad, where everyone would regroup. Gavin called in to inform Lindsay that they were nearing the helicopter.

“Roger that,” Lindsay chirped. “See ya.” Gavin could the helicopter blades whirring of the copter blades starting up before he hung up, and ran a hand through his hair.

“The chopper is starting up,” Gavin commented idly. Ray hummed. “We should get there soon.” Jack nodded. “I wanted to fly the damn chopper,” he muttered, crossing his arms and pouting. He looked remarkably like a five-year-old. Ray snorted and scrolled through his phone.

“You and me both,” Jack said. “If everything goes well, we can buy another for ourselves.” Gavin huffed again, but looked sated.

 

The chopper appeared in the distance not too long later, the land absent of any life besides the occasional cacti or brush. A jackrabbit if it was a good day. They got out the car and grabbed their weapons. Everyone got in the helicopter with a small greeting to Lindsay. They strapped in as Lindsay slowly took off from the ground.

“So, how did it go?” she asked. She turned the chopper around and started flying towards Mt. Chiliad, gaining altitude as she did so. “I’m assuming that Gavin cleared his throat.

“It went great, mom,” he said sarcastically in a nasal, high pitched voice. “We made a lot of new friends, and I made macaroni art with tons of glitter! Oh, and we killed the cashier.” Ray gave in and burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter that made his stomach hurt. Jack smiled from the passenger’s side.

“Alright, alright,” Lindsay grumbled. “I’m sorry I even asked,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I’m sorry, too,” Gavin and Ray said in unison.

Lindsay, Jack, Ray, and Gavin were nearly half-way to the mountain when the dashboard began beeping. “What’s going on?” Gavin asked. Lindsay furrowed her eyebrows. She tilted her head and looked at Jack for direction, who in turn, simply shrugged. But soon, the helicopter harshly tilted forward as a worrying grating sound filled their ears.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Lindsay screamed. She glanced back at the rotor and saw smoke rising up from it. “Something’s wrong with the helicopter,” she explained. Her face paled. “We’re gonna have to jump ship!”

“Don’t you mean jump copter?!” Ray yelled over the blades. He got up and stumbled over to the row of parachutes and picked the closest one.

“Shut the fuck up and get out!” Lindsay retaliated. “I’m being serious here!” Jack looked at Lindsay and then back at the smoking rotors. She seemed to consider something before she unbuckled her seat belt and Lindsay’s as well. “What are you doing?” Jack pushed Lindsay off the chair despite her protests and buckled herself in. “Hey!”

“Go!” Jack yelled. “I’ll handle this. Sorry to break it to you, but I’m a better pilot.”

“But what about you?” Gavin screamed. Ray looked at Jack with pleading eyes as he put on his parachute. Jack shook her head and motioned towards the parachutes.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, a motherly tone creeping into her voice that somehow managed to soothe and quiet the nervousness. “I’ve dealt with these things before. And probably much worse.” Lindsay nodded and squeezed Jack’s shoulder before grabbing a parachute for herself. “Call Geoff and one of the boys will come pick you up. We’re not that far from Chiliad.”

“See you later then, Jack,” Gavin said as he opened the door to the helicopter, and nodded to Jack before jumping out. Lindsay followed after Gavin, but Ray stayed back. He had a look on his face that reminded Jack of a child who thought that they were the reason daddy doesn’t come home.

“You’re not going to make it out of this, are you?” Ray asked, his voice quiet, but managing to pierce through the chaos. Jack’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the yoke tighter.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice breaking. Ray walked over the few steps it took to reach the pilot’s seat and gave her a quick kiss to Jack’s cheek.

“I’m sorry, too,” Ray mumbled. “Bye, Jack.”

“You know I hate goodbyes,” Jack said. “It means you’re leaving. Sometimes you don’t come back.” Ray stared at Jack with an almost amused look on his face. “I prefer to say, ‘See you soon,’ because that means you’ll see each other again.” Jack smiled at Ray.

“See you soon,” Ray said. Before any of them could do or say anything else, he jumped out of the helicopter. Jack let out a shaky breath and stared straight ahead, her heart beating impossibly fast as the ground drew ever nearer.

The engine of the helicopter sputtered and eventually gave up, and it sent itself and Jack plummeting to the ground. Jack let out a huff of laughter as her gut dropped and reminded her of the time that Gavin threw up on a roller coaster as it went on the loop-de-loop. During the ride, too.

“Jack!” Geoff’s voice crackled through. His voice broke. “Where are you?” _He sounds so concerned_ , Jack thought. “Michael and I are at Mt. Chiliad already.” She opened her mouth to answer.

“I’m-”

 

 


	2. Jack Pattillo

“I’m-”

“Jack? Jack!” Geoff screamed and pulled at his hair before yanking his earpiece out and throwing it on the ground. “Fuck!” Geoff kicked it as Michael flinched and leaned against his chrome car when Geoff swore. It normally was a frequent thing, and Michael really shouldn’t be surprised by it, but the way Geoff said it made him flinch. It was brutal. It was frustrated and angry and full of despair, a thousand mistakes rolled into one single event. Geoff paced up and down the trail kicking up dirt as he did so.

“What wrong?” Michael asked. He immediately regretted asking the question. Geoff clenched his hands and turned towards Michael, his stance defensive and intimidating.

“Her radio just cut off,” he grit out. “Her radio just fucking cut off and I heard an explosion.” Geoff looked wild with his hair sticking up in every which way and his eyes wide. Michael rubbed his hands together and bit his lip.

“Maybe her ear piece fell out or something,” he said hopefully. Even as he said it, he knew what his reply would be. “Fell off just as she left the range of a bomb or whatever just exploded.” Geoff shook his head.

“She was talking to me, or at least, trying to talk to me, until the last second,” he said. His shoulders sagged. “No time for her to move anywhere. I-I think she was still on the helicopter. She just got cut off.” Michael frowned.

“Maybe it wasn’t her explosion,” Ryan said quietly. “Maybe she was too close to a bomb, a grenade, or something and she got-”

“You know that bullshit, and I do, too,” Geoff interrupted. “Because none of the others that were supposed to be on that chopper have responded or called.” Ryan clamped his mouth shut, and Geoff’s phone rang. Geoff shot a glare at the two before answering the call.

“What?” he snapped.

“Geoff,” Gavin said, “you need to come pick us up right now.” Geoff’s eyes widened. He turned towards the other two.

“Is Jack with you?” Geoff asked, a small shred of hope persuading him to say that. There was nothing but a painful silence on the other end of the line. It made his heart hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Gavin whispered. There was a beat of pure tension. “I thought she could handle it; she said she could, but we saw the chopper go down and-”

“The chopper went down?!” Geoff screamed. He could picture Gavin flinching on the other end at the sudden volume. Michael and Ryan stood straight up at Geoff’s words. Geoff groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Gavin murmured again. “I just... I’m... Just... just come pick us up. We’re a couple miles south of Mt. Chiliad. Please.” Geoff pressed the end call button a little too hard for a touch screen phone, and turned to Ryan.

“I know,” Ryan said before Geoff even got the first word out. “A couple miles south of Chiliad. I got it.” For the first time since they got to the top of the mountain, Geoff look both relieved and tired. “Be back soon.” Ryan got in the battered getaway car, put his skull mask back on, and drove down the mountain, the clattering of the wheels against rocks scraping against their ears.

 

Ryan’s car drove back up the trail with three more people in it. They looked nervous and concerned, talking to each other quietly. Ryan looked somber in his mask- Death driving a beaten-up Albany Washington with passengers in the back. Ryan parked next to Michael’s car and got out, and the three followed suit. They shuffled towards Geoff.

Geoff paced the trail and turned towards the trio that was on the helicopter. “What the fuck happened?” Gavin stared at his feet and then looked at Lindsay who was looking at Ray. It was silent, the city lights in the distance softly illuminating their faces and the setting sun on the other. “Well?” Lindsay sighed and looked up at Geoff.

“The helicopter just... gave out,” she mumbled. “Everything was going according to plan, but the helicopter just died.” Lindsay played with the edge of her shirt. Geoff crossed his arms.

“Wait, what do you mean ‘gave out’? That helicopter is brand new! Was brand new anyways.” The man squinted at the three, his breaths coming heavy and eyes furious. “You better be shitting me right now,” he growled. “Because this is no joke. If Jack is dead-” Ray shook his head.

“We don’t know what happened,” he interrupted. “The helicopter was fine, and it was brand new. But the rotors started smoking, and we had to jump.” Ray crossed his arm over his stomach, as if to protect himself from something. He licked his lips as the wind whipped at him. “Jack took over in the cockpit. I think she knew there was no way out of it.” Geoff put his face in his hands let out a shaky breath. “The chopper was falling too fast and too steep. The engine already on it’s way out, judging by the way how it sputtered.” Ray shook his head. “I’m sorry. There is no way that she could’ve survived that explosion.”

“She’s gone,” Geoff mumbled. “Jack's fucking gone.” Ryan removed his mask to reveal the smudged face paint and a sorrowful face. The crew could see that Jack’s supposed death affected him, too.

“Jack knew this life wasn’t office hours and 9 to 5 office hours,” he said, his voice steely. “She knew the risks. She took them.” Ryan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “No matter how you twist the story, no matter what you say, Jack was aware of the dangers of this kind of life. There’s no changing that.”

“In this sort of life, people don’t die of old age,” Michael added. “They die from car accidents, jet failures, bullet to the brain, or from helicopter crashes.” Geoff’s shoulders dropped, and it seemed like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “You’re not the only one missing Jack.”

“The best we can do it learn from our mistakes, as cliche as that sounds,” Ryan said. “Imagine how guilty and terrible Gavin, Ray, and Lindsay feels right now.” The said three looked up at Ryan. “It could’ve been any of them. Just be grateful that it wasn’t all four of them.” Geoff nodded resignedly.

“You’re right,” he sighed. “You guys head back to the apartment. I need to go make sure there’s no evidence where Jack crashed.” His voice caught on the last word.

“I’ll go with you,” Michael said. Geoff shook his head.

“No. I need to do it alone.”

“Geoff-”

“Please.”

Gavin put a hand on Michael’s shoulder, and Michael relented. Lindsay hugged Geoff.

“Be safe,” she whispered. Geoff squeezed her and gave her a tight smile. Lindsay looked back She got in the Albany Washington. Michael handed Geoff the keys to his chrome car.

“Not a scratch,” Michael warned jokingly, as cliche as it sounds. He followed Lindsay into the car and held her hand, Lindsay giving Michael a nearly imperceivable squeeze of comfort. Gavin and Ray both gave Geoff a small smile, and got in the car with Michael and Lindsay- Gavin in the passenger’s side, and Ray next to Lindsay. Ryan looked at Geoff quietly, and a mutual understanding passed between them. Ryan got in the driver’s seat and started the engine. He back up and drove down the beaten-up trail, the exhaust pipe coughing out black smoke. The rumble of the engine died down as the car disappeared from Geoff’s point of view. He grasped the car keys in his palm, the jagged edged digging into his skin and leaving marks.

Geoff breaths in the still air, and gets in the car.

It feels like a goodbye.

 


	3. Intermission

Geoff comes back early next morning.

He smells of smoke and fire, the scent rolling in like fog, and his tired eyes are now restless. His once pristine suit is now dirtied, and his cheeks are smudged with ashes. Geoff is tired but has nervous fingers and twiddling thumbs, messy hair and stuttering thoughts that are tripping over each other. His heart is beating erratically- loud and fast. It’s ringing in his ears and it’s burning him up. The smoke from the long fallen helicopter his clouding his mind, and the fire is burning them up just as fast.

The first thing he does that cold morning is drink. Drink whiskey and bourbon, a shot of vodka and two of tequila, inhales them like air for a drowning man, and in a sense, he is. Drowning in mistakes and events that led up to this big catastrophe. They felt immortal; they felt as if the world was in the palm of their hands. This was a harsh slap in the face to remind them, yes, they were still very mortal. They were flesh and blood like every other human being out there, not gods. Still, Geoff drinks a cocktail of drinks that are soon swirling inside him like the thoughts of the burning helicopter and the thoughts of choked-out last words and the thoughts of Jack’s body burning in the cockpit of the helicopter-

He stumbles down the hall in a drunken haze, and throws up in the bathroom.

Cold sweat is pouring out of his pores, and it seems like the whole world is spinning and tilting this way and that, tumbling him down the rabbit hole. He sits in silence as the world ticks away outside, but time seems to stop in solitude. Geoff doesn’t know how long he has been there. For all he knows, hours. It’s quiet. It’s quiet and unnerving. Never mind the morning traffic outside the apartment; where’s the chatter? It’s always Ryan and Jack who get up first.

Geoff stumbles into his bedroom, shedding his clothes and climbing into bed. He stinks of sweat and smoke, but he doesn’t care. Geoff doesn’t have time.

He falls asleep.

It’s only for a few hours, however, the daylight only keeping him floating on the shallow end of an infinite abyss of sleep. He floats, and thinks about how mornings used to go.

Every morning, outside Geoff’s door, there’s the soft murmuring of Jack and Ryan greeting each other. There’s the creak of their worn-out couch as someone sat down. A clatter of cupboards and pantries opening and a crinkle of plastic. A small slap and quiet scolding from Jack (“It’s unhealthy to eat chips in the morning!” “We literally kill people; what do you mean ‘unhealthy’.”) as the pantry doors close again and sheepish apologies come from Ryan.

But today, there’s nothing.

Geoff is wide awake long before the norm, staring up at the ceiling and the slowly rotating ceiling fan. His sheets are cast aside for the gentle breeze the fan gives. It’s summer, he reasons. No need for sheets. In reality, the sheets feel suffocating, strangling, wrapping around him like snakes and choking him.

Geoff breathes, and the snakes slither away.

Time ticks by, speeding up and slowing down in an irregular pattern that Geoff can’t place. There’s phantom footsteps and there’s a creak from the sofa. Minute by minute, hour by hour, Geoff lays there. He lays there, and he breathes.

He swears he can hear Jack saying, “It’ll be alright.”

 

 

 


	4. Gavin Free

After Jack’s fiasco, it was Gavin Free. Gavin had no labels. You _couldn’t_ label him. One day he’ll be one thing, another the next. He changes labels like he goes through shirts and gun cartridges. He was a hurricane or a tornado or another natural disaster that would fly by and leave you on your ass wondering just what the hell happened. If you absolutely had to put a label on Gavin Free, it would only be one thing.

The wildcard.

He had a variety of skills ranging from accidentally shooting his gun in public and throwing a grenade towards his own crew to planning entire heists and managing to rob a bank of all it’s money in the same day. Many say that he’s a joke, a laugh, but the fact that you can’t describe Gavin Free with any labels is frightening. A disturbance in the order of society; everyone had to have a label. It was who you were. At least, that’s what they drill into your heads. You don’t know what he’ll do or what he can do. You expect one thing and get another because he loathes labels. They are too constricting and if you don’t change them, they are stuck with you. The sticky glue used to keep them on you left behind in a gross residue, proof that you _let_ yourself be labeled. Some would say he’s erratic, but Gavin would change that up real quick.

You try to label him, he would shed it twice as quick with a fast car and a bullet between your eyes.

That’s why if someone told you the cause of his death, you would laugh.

It wasn’t anything extravagant like a heist or a gang war. It didn’t go out guns blazing and bodies crumpling to the ground. It was actually a common occurrence. A well-known joke. A sick one, but if when you kill people for a living, it’s nothing.

Things have settled down since Jack’s death, but there was a hole in their group. The absent ringing whenever that sat down to plan a heist or drove silently in their cars because the apartment was too quiet, too heavy. It hurt when someone called out her name, or when someone walked in absentmindedly into her bedroom to give her something. Her things were left untouched, dust collecting on her valuables and worthless junk that hurt too much to throw away. Her guns’ once pristine condition degraded down to dull, creaking messes. Blinds remained closed and curtains drawn. Wisps of red hair and a creak or a phantom thud from behind the closed bedroom door were constant reminders.

A ghost lived in their apartment.

Their usual routine was disrupted. But the crew did what they did best- improvise. Covering up slips that fall from their tongues, turning around to tell a joke, setting a sixth place at their table, ordering one drink too many. It screwed up the order of things wherever they went.

True, things got heated a lot more often without Jack being their to calm them down, her soft voice soothing them. They found themselves leaving to their own individual apartments now and then, leaving the heated apartment to their own little hovel. They would be gone for hours or days. Ryan once left and didn’t come back for two weeks. He did come back with four new bullet wounds and five headlines on the news. It was a roller coaster of emotions and liquor bottles; it didn’t matter if it was trivial things like putting an empty milk carton back in the fridge or losing the keys to their getaway car. Pretty soon, their entire family-esque group was falling apart.

 

“Why didn’t go buy ammo when we told you to?!” Michael screamed at Gavin. Gavin clenched his jaw and continued mashing buttons on his controller, albeit a little more harshly than needed. “Gavin!” The Brit paused the game and looked at Michael with an exasperated look.

“What Michael? What do you want me to say?” he asked impatiently. “We all know no matter what I say, you’re gonna yell at me some more about how I’m a mong or a screw-up. I nearly know every insult you’ve thrown at me by heart! Motherfucker, screw-up, idiot, cunt- it doesn’t matter!”

“Maybe if you actually listened to us for once, we wouldn’t be having this conversation!” Michael retaliated. His face was red and only sound that could be heard was the music of the pause screen. “I tell you time and time again to do a simple thing that a fucking five-year-old can do, but somehow you fuck it up!” Ray stood up from his chair and silently retreated into his room and slammed the door so hard the pictures on the wall shook. Geoff was in his second apartment from a previous argument earlier that day with Ryan, and the man himself was nursing a glass of vodka. He was silent, his mask discarded on the floor- bloodstained and torn. He wouldn't actually drink it. No, it's there for sentiment. 

“It’s always your fault!” Michael screamed. Gavin stood up and faced Michael, a steely look on his face. “Every single thing that goes wrong, it’s your fucking fault! ‘Oh poor, me,’” Michael mimicked in a poor imitation of Gavin, “’I’m Gavin Free and I’m one of the most wanted men in whole fucking universe, but I need help finding my own ass every single fucking morning!’” Michael pushed Gavin back as he continued his barrage, spit flying and insults lashing. “Grow up, Gavin! This isn’t a joke! You think you’re living the life thousands want, drinking and fucking every chick you see, millions of dollars to your name!” Michael was furious, his fists clenching at his sides, too far gone in the pent-up anger boiling over. “Open up your eyes and see! This is real, it’s so fucking real! Jack’s dead, and _this is real_!” Ryan visibly tensed, and his grip on the glass tightened.

“’I’m Gavin _fucking_ Free,” Michael spat, his voice like a whip and sour, “’and I killed Jack Pattillo!’” By the end of the sentence, Michael had lost the poor imitation and was screaming louder than ever, nearly an inhumane screech. Gavin threw his controller at the wall, and Michael took a step back as it broke and clattered across the floor. Ryan looked up at the two before dumping the rest of his drink into the sink and grabbing the entire bottle. He followed Ray’s footsteps and retreated into his room with a harsh slam. The room was silent as Michael fully processed his venom-filled words. “I- Gavin, I-”

“If it’s my fault all the time,” Gavin said quietly, interrupting Michael as his anger simmered under his skin, “then why don’t I fix that problem for you?” He turned around and grabbed his sunglasses and phone. “I’ll get out of your hair for good, if that’s what you so clearly want.” Gavin opened the door of the apartment and left, leaving Michael alone grasping for words.

 

Gavin had no idea _why_ he brought his sunglasses with him. It was nighttime outside, the brisk air nipping at his exposed skin. The stars shone and the city lights rivaled them. He slipped them on anyways, and ignored the odd looks he received in return. People tried to avoid him, his aura of contempt and anger rolling off his in waves. Or it was the sunglasses at night combo.

He walked quickly down the street, turning random corners and crossing streets, just to get as far away as he can from the apartment. The words echoed in head his head.

 _Is it really my fault?_ Gavin wondered, the events before the crash playing in his mind. _I suppose if I had fought with Jack, demanded to fly the airplane instead... Maybe I would be the one dead instead of Jack._ A flurry of thoughts started running through his head.

_Would they have even missed me? They seem to care about Jack a lot more than me. She was more experienced and valuable than me, too. She plans things out, and she’s the glue that holds us together. I’m an outcast, and Michael was right. I screw everything up, oh god. I could’ve killed everyone if I think about it. Everyone would be dead and it would be my fault, no one else’s. It’s all my faul-_

Gavin shook his head and fished his phone out from his pocket. He needed to get these toxic thoughts out of his head. All this negative thinking did him no goof. He scrolled down his contact list until he reached Geoff’s name. He paused. Geoff seemed to be the most impacted by Jack’s death. Michael said that it was his own fault. Would it be fair to call him? Gavin’s thumb hovered over Geoff’s name.

“Hand over the phone and wallet.” Gavin swiveled around and was met by a gun and a hooded man. “I ain’t kidding!” The mugger had his face covered with a stereotypical ski mask, and his grip on his gun was shaky. He slowly advanced on Gavin, one step at a time like a twisted waltz. He was stopped by a barrier that blocked off a steep hill. Gavin could faintly hear the rush of water.

“Alright, alright,” Gavin hushed. He reached back slowly to his back pocket, trying to grab his gun. _Shit_ , he thought. _I left it back at the apartment_. Gavin paused as he thought of the conversation he had before he left. Gavin pretended to feel around for his wallet before raising his hands up again. Gavin knew that even though he was much more experienced in all wrong-doings, the mugger had a gun. Whether the gun was loaded or not didn’t matter- 50/50 chances seem to sour around him. “I don’t have my wallet,” he said cautiously, “but I’ll give you my phone.” In a split second decision, he tapped on Geoff’s name and shoved the mugger away from him. The mugger yelled and pulled the trigger, a loud bang echoing through the street. Gavin lunged for the mugger and wrestled for the gun. The mugger pulled at Gavin's hair before the Brit punched him in the face. After Gavin got a hold on the gun, the mugger shoved him and made a break for it, not caring about his lost gun nor the phone. The sound of cheap sneakers slapping against the pavement was the last thing Gavin heard before he staggered back and toppled over the edge.

 


	5. Gavin Free

Geoff’s phone started ringing. It was loud and pierced through his head like a bullet, but it shook him out of a stupor that, truth be told, wasn’t completely unwelcome. His apartment was trashed and broken glass littered the floor. As he stepped across the floor, the glass crunched under his shoe. He picked up his ringing cell, ignoring the caller ID, and collapsed on his couch. “What?” he snapped. There was nothing on the other end of the line. It was silent besides what Geoff assumed was static. After a moment of silence, what Geoff mistook for static seemed to be water running. There was some nature sounds and the artificial sound of cars and other vehicles, but it was faint like it was some distance away. Too wild to be a faucet or a bath- a river, perhaps. Geoff shook his head and pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the screen.

_Gavino Free._

“Gavin?” Geoff stood up and glanced at the clock. It was nearly one in the morning. He put the phone back to his ear. “Gavin, what the fuck, dude? It’s too fucking late for this shit.”

Nothing.

Okay, now Geoff wasn’t sure whether he should be angry at Gavin for interrupting his “me” time, which consisted of various alcoholic drinks, or worried that he wasn’t responding. Things have been unstable recently. More fights have been happening and whenever he looked at Jack’s closed door, his heart hurt.

However, Geoff was distracted when another call came in, and forgot all about it.

 

After Geoff cleaned up his apartment, he drove back to the main apartment. His hand was covered in bandages from the glass cutting it up, so it pained him to drive. Something was scratching at the back of his mind, an almost phantom itch, that he was forgetting about something. Geoff shook it off as having a hangover, and pulled into the garage. As he walked down the hall to his apartment, the door suddenly burst open.

“And where were y- Geoff?” Michael asked. He looked tired and ever so slightly disappointed. Geoff raised an eyebrow and brushed past Michael.

“That’s me,” Geoff responded. Ray and Ryan sat on the opposite ends of the couch playing video games, and Michael stood in the door way. “Where’s Gavin?” he asked. Michael shrugged.

“I was going to call you to ask if you knew where he was,” Michael responded, closing the door and plopping down on the couch between Ryan and Ray. 

“Why would he be with me?” Geoff asked.

“Michael and Gavin had a fight,” Ray explained, “and Gavin went God knows where. Things got pretty heated, people said things that were not meant to be said.” Michael nodded in defeat.

“And none of you guys know where he went?” Geoff asked. Ryan looked over to Geoff as he died in game. Ray was still going strong.

“We tried calling him,” he said. “At first it went straight to voicemail, then it rang and rang. He didn’t answer.” Geoff suddenly remembered the odd call he got last night. “We thought that maybe he went out to a bar and got drunk,” he said with a shrug. 

“Hang on,” Geoff said. “I think I got a call from him last night.” Everyone stopped and looked at Geoff. Even Ray paused the game. Geoff unlocked his phone and went though his calls. Underneath Lindsay’s number (she wanted to ask if they were alright) was Gavin. “Yeah, I did,” he mumbled.

“What did he say?” Ray asked.

“Nothing,” Geoff answered. Michael and Ryan raised a questioning eyebrow. “He called me, or at least, I’m assuming he did, but there was nothing on the other line. But...” Geoff strained his memory to remember what exactly was on the other end of the line. He drunk; he knew that much. “There was the sound of water running,” he slowly said, “and cars.”

“That’s like half of Los Santos,” Michael said exasperatedly. “And knowing Gavin, he could be anywhere _but_ Los Santos!” Ryan shifted.

“We can try to track his phone,” he suggested. “I mean, Gavin probably doesn’t care about upgrading his phone so it won’t get tracked past the ability of the police, so I think I can get in easy,” Ryan continued. As he said so, he got up to their main computer where Ryan simply typed a few key words, and sat back, his eyebrows furrowed. “It really shouldn’t be hard; I put in a chip that corresponds to this computer.”

“Are these chips in all our phones?” Ray asked. Ryan shrugged, and avoided looking at everyone. “When did you put them in?”

“Recently,” was all he said. Everyone quieted and Ray looked down at his hands. 

After a few moments, Ryan looked back at the screen, which now showed a grid of the state, and frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Geoff asked. He could see how Ryan’s posture changed. Ray looked up from his hands and Michael sat a little straighter. “Ryan?” The man furrowed his eyebrows and clicked around the screen, zooming in a little more, and pin pointing it exactly.

“It’s just that...” Ryan leaned back against the back of the chair and swiveled around to look at the group sitting in the main room and ran a hand through his already tousled hair. “Gavin’s phone is stationary. It’s not moving at all,” he explained. Before any of them could ask for more detail, he said, “And it’s next to the river near 32nd.”

“Maybe he got so drunk, he dropped his phone over the edge,” Michael offered, trying to fight off the odd pull in his gut. He picked at the edge of his t-shirt, then at his fingers, then back to shirt again. He was nervous. Ryan clicked again and the screen went away.

“We should go check,” Ryan muttered, almost distractedly. He glanced out the window and followed the cars driving down the street. That was Geoff’s cue. He nodded and got up from his seat. 

“Meet me down in five,” he said curtly before he left the apartment. The door shut quietly after him. Ray fiddled with his controller before shutting the console down and going into his room to change out of his pajamas. Michael sighed and tipped his head over the edge of the couch.

“Do you think he’s okay?”

Ryan was startled by the question. When he looked at Michael, he saw a moment of worry and insecurity before it was bottled up and the mask of uncaring attitude was back. “I mean, the idiot isn’t going to go and get himself killed, is he?” Ryan turned back to the window with his lips pulled into a slight frown.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Ryan answered. “He’s been defying death all these years; who says he won’t do it again?” He had a joking undertone in his voice, but Ryan couldn’t help but feel nervous as well. He hid it well, though. Michael relaxed slightly, but he still looked concerned for their missing friend. “I’m going to go out downstairs,” he finally said. “I’ll see you.” Michael nodded and waited for Ray.

 

In the car ride, the conversation was forced. A jittery atmosphere filled the car and felt suffocating as it raced down streets. Ryan quietly instructed Geoff where to go, and he followed the directions in a white-knuckled grip. Ray and Michael sat in the back, anxiously waiting for the car to stop. Geoff’s driving was wild, turning this way and that, using the horn constantly. 

Soon, Geoff screeched to a halt, and Ray and Michael nearly slammed their heads into the driver and passenger’s seat. With a small noise of protest from Michael, everyone got out of the car. On the sidewalk, there was a small smattering of blood. Ryan raised an eyebrow and looked at the barrier. Also blood. After further inspection, it looked like it was on the other side, too, as if someone had flipped over the edge. They climbed over the metal barrier and slid down towards the bank of the river. They’re quiet, the sound of dirt and rocks bouncing down the hill and cars racing past are the only sounds filling the air. The four came to a stop at the bank and look around. 

“I’ll go upstream with Geoff,” Michael finally said, “and you and Ryan can go downstream.” Ray nodded. Ryan started trailing downstream. 

“Look for anything of Gavin’s,” Ray said. “Like sunglasses, his phone, maybe pants...” Michael cracked and smile and started following the river. Ray jogged after Ryan, and Geoff followed Michael. 

The two made idle talk while they scanned for any signs of Gavin. So far, there was nothing but a few odd stains that Michael was pretty sure wasn’t soda or piss. Geoff occasionally picked up rocks along the way and tossed them into the river, but other than that, there was nothing else to do. Until Michael heard something crack. 

At first, he looked back at Geoff to see if he made the noise, but then he realized something gritty was underneath his shoes. He stepped back, and saw a pair of sunglasses crushed and broken. Michael thought his heart would stop when he realized they were Gavin’s. He picked them up and looked back at Geoff with a panicked expression. 

“What’s wrong?” Geoff asked, moving closer to Michael.

“These... these are Gavin’s,” Michael answered, speaking slowly and deliberately. Geoff stopped and looked at the broken glasses in Michael’s hands. “These are Gavin’s sunglasses,” Michael repeated again, sounding broken and lost. “Why would he leave these here? Geoff, he never leaves his sunglasses. He wears them at night, for god’s sake!” Michael gripped the sunglasses tighter, the glass pressing into his skin, threatening to break it. “Where is he?!” Michael screamed. Geoff held Michael’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. He could see that Michael was beginning to break. In the distance, Ray and Ryan was running towards them, alerted by the scream.

“Hey,” he said gently, “we’ll find Gavin somehow.” Michael frowned and looked down at the glasses. “We’ll find him, and when we do, you can scold him as much as you want,” he joked. But Michael knew the meaning behind Geoff’s words.

_We aren’t losing another one._

 


	6. Intermission

 

They never find him.

Michael pleads for the remaining crew to go back and look for him every day, and every day they come back with nothing. It’s apologetic looks and soft touches every time they go out and every time the come in. Michael could see that Ray had given up on finding Gavin as time went on before anyone else. Then Ryan. Until Michael was sure Geoff was looking for Gavin just because Michael begged him to. But at this point, Michael would be happy to see a corpse. They spend less and less time looking for their missing friend, and the crew soon learns to adapt to their tight-knit little group losing another.

Michael hates it.

It’s like when Jack died, people calling out their names and looking at closed bedroom doors every day, until one by one it tapers off. They learn not to do it because it hurts. It hurts when they turn on the game console and they see Gavin’s profile sitting idly as it waits for their respective player to pick up the controller. It hurts when they see Gavin’s cars collect dust in the garage. It hurts when Michael takes Gavin’s freshly laundered clothes into his bedroom and sees his room clean because that’s not who Gavin is. It hurts when anything reminds them of their loss.

Michael sits brokenly on his bed, equally broken sunglasses in his hand, and replays the last words he said to Gavin through his head.

_It’s always your fault!_

_Open your eyes and see!_

_Jack’s dead, and **this is real**!_

_I’m Gavin **fucking** Free, and I killed Jack Pattillo!_

Michael pauses and lets the last sentence run through his head. And again. And again. It goes through his head like a chant, repeating it over and over until his head is spinning. Why did he say them? Why didn’t Michael man up and apologize for once? Michael is a too-proud man and he know that. He can see the hurt expression on Gavin’s face, and Michael cries out because he can’t remember the last time Gavin smiled and oh god when did he last smile-

Michael throws the sunglasses against the wall and the glass completely shatters.

When was the last time anybody smiled? Not smiles filled with anger or bloodlust. Not sickening grins when they blow someone’s head off. Smiles used to hide with pain didn’t count. No more smiles of pity either. Actual, genuine smiles. Michael smiles a bittersweet one as he remembers where they left their happiness behind.

In the burning helicopter. Along with Jack.

The apartment is too quiet these days. There’s the occasion hours filled with the blazing of animated guns and the clinking of drinking glasses, but the place had lost its... appeal. Michael used to be excited to come back to what he considered a home from a heist or a night out. But now, he hated it. It was too stuffy with memories that would inevitably fade with time. Yes, the apartment was wonderful and one of the top notch ones in the city with their big windows and practically a thousand rooms, but _home_ itself, on the other hand...

Bags form under his eyes, and his skin is a sickly pale color. He no longer goes out to get drunk at bars; he drinks in the solitude of his room. His hair is growing out wild, and he seriously considers shaving it all off. Gavin likes to tease Michael about it. No, Gavin _liked_. He’s dead. He’s dead and Gavin is never coming back. He’s dead and the last thing Michael said to him was-

Michael shakes his head, as if that would get the poisonous thought out of his head. He stares wistfully at the shattered glasses. He’s losing himself; that much he knows. He losing himself as his friends seem to be picked off one by one.

 


	7. Michael Jones

 Then it was down to four hardened criminals. Four people who have killed others for their own benefit. They have lived the life that was in every comic book, every movie, every dream. Millions of dollars to their name, a variety of cars all souped up to their liking, and a large empire for them to control. The ability to sell out any competitors, criminal and businessmen alike, was a phone call away. Everyone has heard of the Fake AH Crew, underground or not. Whether it would be up in Liberty City or back at home in Los Santos, the notorious gang never gave a second thought to what they have done or will do. They had the city in the palm of their hands, and no other gang dared to try and dethrone them. The crew did whatever they pleased with no consequences.

But not anymore.

It was as if some god had decided that they were bored with them, and wanted to kill them off so they could be replaced with new pawns, new players. Another gang that would entertain them until they grew boring. A gang to stir up trouble and replace their faces in the news of every television in the country. To take their place as the most dangerous gang to ever exist until the Fake AH Crew became nothing but an old legend, whispered behind dumpsters in dirty alleyways. Then the new players would get wiped out or broken up so there would be a new ruler in the hierarchy of criminals. Wash, rinse, repeat. It was a sadistic way of picking them off. A murder of crows flew over their name as the best gang all around, waiting for another one to drop dead, another one to eat, another meal for them to pick apart.

 

Michael was what you would call a demolition expert. Give him a few bombs and a remote, and soon half the block would be in flames. He could fuck up an entire neighborhood with a garbage truck and four magazines of ammo in under an hour if he wanted to, or if you paid him enough. Stick him in a school, and he could make a bomb out of the contents of a janitor’s closet. No trace that he was the one that did it, and if he felt pissed off enough, he would pin it on some unsuspecting citizen or one of his friends if he felt cheeky enough. Call up a few connections, make a fake alibi, and boom. A new criminal behind bars. Quick. Efficient. With a temper as short as a bomb fuse, he liked to get things over with quickly. There’s no waiting for Michael Jones. He hasn’t got the time, nor the patience.

Michael was all fire and dynamite. Matches and fireplaces. Cherry-red embers and white hot flame. His touches would leave a trail of heat following after, and his anger fueled the fire that kept the crew going on. He was the slow burn of fire as it consumed everything; he was the raging fire that ate away at entire forests. He was everything and nothing all at once as he burns up every soul he meets. He’s the fire that warms everyone. But he’s burning himself up for others, and he’s almost gone.

It was a matter of time before Michael was next.

You reap what you sow.

After the trail on Gavin ends up cold and at a dead end, Michael grieves just like when Jack died.

They close the door to Gavin’s bedroom and leave it the way it is. They leave his gaming profile alone, but changes the setting so it reads “Offline”. Gavin’s cars are moved to the back of the garage, but otherwise left untouched, gathering dust. They try to preserve the fact that Gavin was alive, that Gavin was here and that his fingerprints were smudged all over. He was here, and he would be written into the police records of every police station across the country.

But in those records, his status is still active.

In those records, he’s still alive.

Geoff reasoned that the police don’t know about Gavin’s disappearance, and suspect that he’s still alive. If the police didn’t know, then most of the country didn’t know. He said that it was probably tactical for them to hide the fact the Gavin was missing, or even dead, but he didn’t get to finish that sentence because Michael had tried to lunge across the table screaming that Gavin wasn’t dead. Ray held Michael back with surprising force while Ryan pulled Geoff back instinctively. Michael had stormed out to try and stop out his anger, his fingers itching to grab and something. Instead, he finds himself behind the wheel of his chrome Adder, the engine revving up and squealing out of the garage. This became a way of coping for Michael most nights when things get heated and each others’ presence is infuriating.

There something about the sound of the engine running top speed and the vibrations underneath that replace anger with thrill. Windows down and the cold, biting air making the tip of his nose bright red and his face flushed. The scenery melting into one big blur as he sped past them, nothing distinguishable. The sound of horns blaring as people behind the wheel practically face death as Michael ignores all red lights and stop signs. A white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel as he made hard turns left and right until he doesn’t know where he is. He portrays his sense of loss by drowning himself in the sounds of police sirens and fast cars.

So, Michael goes out driving one night trying to escape the stuffy atmosphere in the apartment.

He’s tired, and his skin is a sickly pale color. To the people around him, the only color on his face are the freckles scattered across it and the bags under his eyes. He looks older than he really is, years if some had to guess. His posture has dramatically changed from the confident, cocky gang member with his head held high to a vulnerable, meek boy that didn’t know to put his hands when nervous. His hands are shaky and his grip is weak. Michael’s guns seem to weigh thousands of pounds despite him being able to hold them up like they were nothing a week earlier. His feet want to run as far as he can, but he doesn’t know where he’ll be. People avoid him like the plague on the streets, and Michael is glad for the space. The fire he had was almost gone, extinguished from the losses he suffered. A wildfire reduced to a flickering candle. Not knowing if Gavin really was dead hit him, and then he wondered if it was better off not knowing. He gets in his chrome Adder with his head underwater and manages to get out of the garage and onto the open road. Michael wonders how on earth he got out here without damaging the car, and goes over what had happened just before he got in and decided to drive his feeling away.  

Tonight, he’s had a rough day. Michael realized his hair had been falling out more than usual due to the stress, and Ray brings it up as a joke that he’s shedding like a cat. At first, Michael deals with it, ignoring Ray and giving him tight-lipped smiles in response. A poor attempt at trying to bring back a sense of normalcy into their group dynamic. He doesn’t have the motivation to fight back or defend himself, and he knows that Ray wanted Michael to yell at him. The bantering is awfully quiet without Gavin to give his two cents in the matter. There’s a nervous energy in the apartment as the teasing becomes more and more forced and awkward, Ray prying for a reaction. He winds Michael up tighter and tighter like a toy, and Michael is trying so hard not to break and yell at Ray because he hates it when anyone fights. Finally, Ray gives up and slouches on the couch and resumes playing his games.

Somehow, the silence makes Michael more irritated than before.

Michael starts fidgeting, the leather squeaking every movement he makes. His uncomfortably aware on how wound he his, with his shoulders practically next to his ears and his fingers pounding on the buttons. Michael’s toes are curling and uncurling and not in the good way either. His expression is stuck in a sour look, and his eyebrows are furrowed. Michael seems to be having a standoff with the t.v. with the steely look in his eyes. Geoff and Ryan are at the kitchen island both with a drink in hand, talking quietly about something. Normally Michael would be glad that there were no fights going on, no arguments, but he can’t take the silence. It’s grating against his ears like nails on a chalkboard and sending chills up and down his spine.

“Fuck this,” Michael mutters. He throws down his controller and grabs his keys and jacket. The apartment is completely silent. “I’m outta here.”

“Where are you going?” Geoff asked, sounding tired and monotonous. This conversation has been a routine for the past couple of weeks.

“Out,” is Michael’s reply. This isn’t the first time he’s used that answer either. The door shuts with a slam and the jingling of Michael’s keys.

Michael blinks and he’s behind the wheel of his steering wheel once again, but with sirens wailing behind him and cops shouting at him. He contemplates if he should just try to outrun the cops, or maybe just call Lester, but the cop start shooting at his tires and he spins out of control. Michael grits his teeth and manages to stop, but scratches his pretty chrome car in the process. “What the fuck?!” he screams in the car, but manages to stem his anger and gets a gun out of the glovebox, checking the ammo. He gets out of the car with his hands up and faces the small group of police cars behind him. Michael looks at his car, and aside from the scratches, his car was fine. None of the tires have been actually popped. He slowly lowers his hands little by little since the police didn’t even tell him to raise his hands.

“Sir,” one of the police officers calls out on his megaphone, “we’ve been alerted that your car has been breaking many traffic laws in the past two weeks.” HIs voice is wavering and Michael can see if he squints his eyes and looks past the headlights that the man his flickering his eyes to another officer next to him. “We must ask you to-” Michael rolls his eyes before he shoots the officer in the head and gets back in his car as fast as he can without hitting his head. His heart is pounding that familiar rhythm and he’s flooring it, the smell of burning rubber filling the air before Michael speeds past it. He could see the police scrambling to get in their own cars as well in the rearview mirror, but Michael steels himself and focuses on getting away. The gun his still in his hand, dangling haphazardly as he turns the steering wheel, and there is some color back on his face.

The police are behind him, never losing track of which street he’s on, which alleyway he went though, and they seem to grow in number. There’s a squadron of cars behind him, at least two in each car, and Michael knows he can’t stop to try and gun them all down. He grits his teeth and shifts gear to try and gain more speed despite the awful rattling of his engine. The police are shooting at him, messing up his car but somehow not hitting his wheels. All Michael could think about was how much it was going to cost to return his car to its previously perfect condition before a bullet cracks through the back windshield and hits him.

 


	8. Michael Jones

 

“Has anyone seen Michael?” Ryan asked. Only Geoff turned to look since Ray was currently immersed in his game. Some new obscure survival that racked up some pretty hefty gamer points. “He didn’t come in last night, and he seemed pretty pissed for no reason,” he continued, almost absentmindedly. Ray shrugged and looked nonchalant, but his grip on the game controller tightened. “His car is missing again.”

“Probably at his apartment,” Ray answered bluntly, mashing the buttons. “He’s got other places he can go to besides this crappy place anyways.” Ryan frowned and looked at Geoff. He was laying on the couch next to Ray playing some game on his phone; Geoff just shrugged and turned back to whatever he was doing. Ryan’s frown deepened and he collapsed into the armchair with a worried look on his face. “I wouldn’t worry,” Ray spoke up after a moment. “It’s not like the first time he’s left to be with someone who isn’t us, or just by himself,” he said, a sour tone bleeding through. Geoff hesitated for a moment, presumable noticing the change in attitude, but returned to his game although halfheartedly. Ray had frozen for a moment after he had said that, but after noticing no one was going to comment on it, he returned to his game and died immediately soon after. He restarted.

“Michael’s gonna be fine,” Geoff assured. “We’ll call him if he isn’t back by dinner,” he offered. Ryan bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from yelling because Ryan said that Gavin would be fine, and now Gavin was presumably dead. But he managed to hold the words in his throat and swallow it back down with some difficulty.

“Alright,” Ryan finally said defeatedly. He sunk into the plush armchair at stared at their small group. By the looks of it, they were trying and failing to distract themselves from the events happening to them. Ryan just hoped it wouldn’t get any smaller.

Dinner came and rolled around, and there was still no sign from Michael. Ryan kept obsessively checking his phone for a text or maybe a call, but always put the phone back down with a frustrated grunt. His leg kept bouncing underneath the table throughout the entire meal. He kept tapping his fingers against the nearest available surface in irregular patterns and pacing the floor. With all the bad habits emitting from Ryan, soon, Geoff and Ray become irritated at Ryan.

“Sit the fuck down and chill, Ryan,” Geoff barked. “Holy shit!” Ray looked up briefly from his 3DS, but otherwise looked uninterested. “You’ve been jumping around like a fucking rabbit and checking your phone every five seconds! I’m pretty sure that if we didn’t interrupt your little pacing session, you would’ve made a trench by noon tomorrow!” Geoff sighed as Ryan stopped his pacing to look at Geoff.

“Michael hasn’t called us yet,” was all he said before he resumed his frantic pacing. Ray sighed and put down his 3DS and looked at Geoff questioningly. Ryan stopped and turned to look at Geoff and Ray. “Can we contact him now?” he asked them, his eyebrow twitching. A telltale sign of stress. Geoff sighed in resignation.

“Fine.”

“Fucking finally,” Ryan muttered, shoving his hand in his pocket to fish for his phone. Before he could even pull it out, his phone rang. Ryan eagerly answered it, his phone nearly jumping out of his hands with the way he scrambled for it. “Michael?” he asked hopefully.

“Look at the fucking news,” Lindsay ordered, her voice breathless. Not Michael. Still, Ryan’s breathing quickened, but he rushed over the couch and reached for the remote, fearing the worst. He turned on the t.v. and flickered through channels until he found the Weazel News. Geoff and Ray looked at each other in confusion, but it was quickly turned into looks of disbelief when the news anchor spoke.

“Michael Jones, associated with the Fake AH Crew, has been brought in by police after a brief car chase between him and the police force,” the woman said as a blurry screenshot of Michael, presumably from security camera footage, appeared next to her. “After shooting Officer Pearce, Jones had attempted to drive off. He was stopped by police soon thereafter. Unfortunately, Jones was shot in the chase, and his body was brought to the Los Santos police department for further investigation. Officer Frenzer, a co-worker, stated that use of force was needed. More information coming to you tomorrow evening at-” Ryan clenched the t.v. remote, and he heard it crack under his grip. Ray slowly rose from the couch and walked over to the t.v. to shut it off. His movements were sluggish, and Geoff stared blankly at the screen while Ryan’s hand hung limply by his side. The apartment was in absolute silence.

“Ryan?” Lindsay’s voice called out faintly from the cell. “Ryan? Are you okay?” Ryan slowly brought his phone to his ear, clutching it for dear life, as if it would somehow wake him up from what surely was a nightmare. “Ryan.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I- I saw it.” The line was silent.

“Oh, Ryan,” Lindsay murmured, sounding heartbroken. “Are you alright? Do I need to come over?” After a beat, Ryan hung up the phone while Lindsay was talking and shoved it in his pocket. Ryan’s body went white hot before it dissolved into cold, like he had been dumped into the icy ocean.

Ryan is breathing hard through his nose, his phone long forgotten as the new information swirls around in his head. Ryan’s chest felt tight, and it was like he was breathing through a straw with his nose plugged. His head was swimming and there was a pressure behind his eyes. Geoff goes to stare at his hands, not seeming to be breathing at all. He had just shut off. Geoff bites his bottom lip hard, and breaks the skin so his mouth is flooded with the taste of copper. He’s screaming internally, his chest constricted and his mind in turmoil. His fingers are shaking now, and he can’t, or won’t, get a solid grip on anything. Ray has a blank look on his face, completely shut off from the world as he processes this information once, twice, three times. The thought that Michael was dead, just like that, was hard to even imagine. His game is discarded in favor of sitting on the couch to try and ease some of the dizziness that makes his head spin, but no avail.

Their group of four was down to three.

 


	9. Intermission

To be honest, Ray didn’t know what to do with himself. He always knew it would end like this. The Fake AH Crew splitting up or dying off one way or another. His other option was Ryan going nuts and killing everybody in the crew, but it looked like this was the way it was going to end. He wasn’t particularly close with anyone in the Fake AH Crew, to be honest. There was no point in getting close and personal with someone whose life span was 31 on average. And that was if you were lucky. If you weren’t lucky, you were dead and sometimes, and only sometimes, found in a bag mutilated beyond recognition with hopefully at least three limbs and a head.

Back to the point.

Jack’s death hit him hard for sure. She was a mother figure and a friend to Ray, pretty much to everyone else in the crew. She was the first to worm through his apathy and try to make friends with him. Knowing that he was the very last person to see her and talk to her in person haunted him. He could’ve saved her, but he trusted Jack and jumped out of the helicopter instead. Ray was admittedly on edge for at least a week, waiting for one of the guys to snap and kick him out, or maybe kill him. Gavin’s death spooked him more than anything. There was the possibility that someone was out there to get him and the rest of the crew after realizing that they were weakened after Jack’s death. The fact that they never found a body only further proved that fact. But Michael’s death completely derailed that theory. Now Ray truly believed their time on this godforsaken earth was up. Their game had ended.

After they heard the news, everyone had split up for a while to go grieve in their own way. Whether it was Ryan going out to take his frustration out on some poor civilians, or to Geoff that opted to drown his sorrows in whiskey chased by cheap domestic beer, it left Ray alone in a penthouse apartment originally fit for six people. He had tried to get his mind off Michael’s mugshot on the screen by playing on his DS, but his concentration kept wandering and just quit playing after the Game Over screen flashed five times. Ray opted to lay on the couch while staring at the ceiling, but that just left Ray to his own thought- the exact opposite of what he wanted. The guilt and grief had been piling on top of him since day one, but he didn’t notice because he did what he did best- deal with it. His apathetic outlook on life had got him this far, but now it was failing him. Ray didn’t know what to do. That was possibly the worst part of this whole ordeal.

So, he lays there in the dark, the Game Over screen flickering behind his eyelids, and wonders what went wrong.


End file.
